


Sound of Settling

by IAmNotLost



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, I kind of like some bits of angst, JUST SOME FIGHTING YOU KNOW HOW IT IS WITH THESE TWO, M/M, PACK MAMA AND PAPA ARE FIGHTING WEH, a little swearing, and fluff, no deaths or anything painful like that, there's some fluff, this can be considered a little angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2012-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 00:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmNotLost/pseuds/IAmNotLost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But that's the thing about Derek. He doesn't fix things. He breaks them.</p><p>In which Derek's emotionally constipated and Stiles isn't any better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sound of Settling

**Author's Note:**

> Title of work credited to the Death Cab for Cutie song, "The Sound of Settling." (:
> 
> So, this took me a couple of days to write!  
> Staying home sick is always a good excuse when you want to spend the day writing, ohoho.
> 
> Not beta'd. I kind of just went over it by myself a few times, so I'm sorry if I missed any errors!
> 
> This went in a completely different direction than I thought it would...but I hope you enjoy!

"None of this is your business, Stiles."

He smells the sadness (too salty, too bitter) before seeing it on Stiles' face. 

There's a moment where Derek _actually_ panics inside, actually stops in his tracks and smells the change of Stiles' mood as it sours. It's overpowering, and Derek has to force himself to swallow past the scent. 

Sadness. It's never been his favorite. It smells brackish, as if he's gone to the beach during a low tide. Too tart, too _cruel_ , because it's Stiles who smells like this and everyone knows it.

The whole pack pauses, doesn't say a word, just looks between Derek and Stiles. Derek can faintly smell anger, probably radiating mostly from Scott. But the pack melts away, like ice cubes, into different areas of the house, so it's just Derek and Stiles. Of course.

Allison may have had to tug Scott with a bit more force, but he went mostly willingly. They all retracted like scolded puppies, slinking away to the shadows, and Derek didn't know why. 

Stiles doesn't look fazed by their departure, he just--well, he just looks hurt. Not bruised or bloodied, but hurt in his eyes, and Derek is trying to figure out which one he likes least.

Bruises, at least, he can deal with.

Stiles doesn't say anything, and Derek is going _crazy_ because Stiles is the one who talks. Stiles always talks, and Stiles isn't fucking talking. It's unnerving, and Derek is really annoyed with himself for caring so much about this fragile human. 

Stiles leaves without a word, and Erica slinks back in, a look of distaste on her face. "You just let him leave?"

"He can do whatever he wants."

Derek glares, but it's more half-hearted than anything because he's not really paying attention. Erica takes that as a cue to continue.

"You basically just told him he didn't matter to us, you know. We backed off because us saying he mattered wouldn't have done much for him. You're the one who said it. And it was a load of bullshit, by the way, it's totally his--"

"He does _not_ have to put his life on the line." Derek growls, irises twisting into their red color and that shuts Erica up nicely.

Good.

 

 

Maybe not so good. Because then, he gets a lecture from Boyd and Lydia and Isaac, and by the time Scott comes around, Derek's eyes flash before Scott even has a chance to open his mouth.

Scott's always been the rebellious one, though, and he stands his ground, chin defiantly jutting out. 

"Stiles is pack."

Derek sighs, and it's not a remorseful one, it's filled with anger and annoyance. If this were a cartoon, there'd probably be smoke coming from his ears. (Like the ones he used to watch with Laura as a kid.)

"I _know_ that, Scott. Would you shut up?"

"You treated him like dirt that whole day, _worse_ than usual, and he didn't do a thing besides continue making jokes. And then you tell him he has no business with us. Stiles is pack, and you hurt our--"

"I told you to _shut up_ , Scott. I'm not asking you again." It wasn't really in Scott to listen, he was 'pack,' but Derek hadn't bitten him. But when Derek got like this he couldn't help but back off with his tail between his legs. 

"You better fix this." He murmured, though, halfway out of the Hale house, and Derek obviously heard every word. Heard it as everyone else dwindled out over time, heard it as the house grew silent and still. He heard it as he laid in the one room with a bed, and tried to sleep. Heard it until exhaustion kicked in four hours later. And then, he heard it in his sleep, too.

But that's the thing about Derek. He doesn't fix things. He breaks them.

 

 

A week passes and the scent of Stiles is no longer floating around the Hale house. (Even his sadness, although Derek remembers the exact bitterly saline solution because he can taste it at the back of his throat.) Isaac sat in Stiles' spot on the raggedy couch last pack meeting, Scott raided what little was in his fridge, and Lydia's perfume drowned out any other traces of Stiles in Derek's home.

Derek has made it a point to not drop by Stiles' window, which he used to do for research, but after a while just used research as an excuse. Stiles was something else. Stiles was ice cold water for a dehydrated man, something so shiny and comfortable and _good_ that Derek wants it selfishly, wants to keep him and polish him and hide him away, so he doesn't bend or tarnish or break.

He tries not to think about it.

 

 

The pack is a mess. Erica and Lydia can't stay in the same room. Well, Erica can't be in a room with most people without pissing them off, Boyd and Isaac included. Scott's angry with Jackson over something he said to Allison, and Allison finds the whole situation ridiculous.

Meaning Scott is also moping and whining and basically leaking feelings of depression _everywhere_ , which makes everything so much fucking worse.

It's Erica (of course) who addresses the pink and yellow elephant in the room, during their third pack meeting without Stiles.

"Are we going to pretend Stiles just never existed, or something?" 

Which isn't technically true. Derek knows that they see him in school, and probably outside of school, even. Scott smells of him most of the time, and it hits Derek with a scent of homesickness, and when he realizes that, Derek almost flips a table.

"I mean really. He's the one who keeps this pack grounded."

And for all that everyone kept bitching Erica out, no one could disagree with her on this. Stiles was the one who sorted out the conflicts--and even if he didn't, he at least made them talk it out to lessen the animosity. Stiles remembered to order the pizza for pack meetings because Derek's house was "unequipped of the necessary vitamins and nutrients that growing lycanthropes needed." Stiles gave the hugs when they were called for, and even when they were reluctantly accepted (but secretly wanted). 

Stiles kept the pack in control in all the ways Derek couldn't. Derek had his own form of control, sure--he was the alpha after all. He kept them in line with fighting, with learning what they could do, and with growing stronger and more reliable. Stiles couldn't fight with any of them. They'd break him. But Derek couldn't hug them, not _really_ , and of course Stiles was part of the fucking pack.

Derek hadn't _meant_ it that way. 

He growls, and it's easy for his eyes to flash red because he's been spending the past weeks on edge, always on edge, because nothing can calm him down. The clench in his jaw looks permanent again, like it did before he met this group of rag-tag kids. This time, honestly, he hadn't meant to semi-alpha out. But it happened, canines slightly bared and eyes red as Erica flinched, an animalistic whimper sounding from her mouth.

Derek sighs, and this time it's more resigned that anything. The pack stays quiet, until Isaac brings up something about training, and Derek stands up as the rest of them agree quickly that that's a great idea. _Wonderful_ , even, great job Isaac. Werewolves can place scents on feelings, so they can smell his own anguish, too.

If Derek fights harder than usual this evening, no one comments as their broken bones heal up in minutes.

 

 

"It has come to my attention that this has grown to be ridiculous."

It's Stiles that appears at Derek's house, because honestly, was anything else expected? Derek's the coward, really. Derek's the coward who follows his mentality of _'let's avoid the problem until it goes away'_ because he finds gnawing off his own leg more appealing than confrontation in the emotional sense. Stiles is standing at Derek's front door, looking like he did those few weeks ago. (Except with deeper bags under his eyes.) He still smells of sadness, too, but it's mixed with anticipation and fear and nerves. Derek doesn't like these scents on Stiles.

When Derek doesn't say anything, Stiles sways uncomfortably because _hello_ , Scott told him this would be a good idea. However, looking back, following Scott's ideas never really did anything good for Stiles. Ever. But still, Derek is staring at him, and any sort of staring for more than 6.8 seconds makes him feel antsy, so he does what he does best. He talks.

"Seriously. I thought you might man up and admit you're a bag of dicks, but you didn't, so I had to come all the way here and do it myself." Stiles pushes his way in, because it's not like Derek would stop him.

Derek doesn't.

"Really. It's been three weeks, and I've left my window open for three weeks, you know, and you never showed. You're an asshole, okay? Seriously. You can't just--you can't just go around calling people 'pack', and hanging out with them while doing research at ungodly hours of the night, and _then_ tell them that none of it is their business? Reality check, buddy: it is definitely my business!" Stiles huffed, arms flailing around slightly before stopping spread wide to his sides, as if waiting for Derek to respond to that. Derek's actually waiting for a response, too.

"I didn't mean it like that." He ends up saying, and it's the wrong thing judging by the way Stiles' scent sours.

"Well then I don't know what language you thought you were speaking, but in English 'none of this is your business, Stiles,'" he drops his voice an octave in mimic, "means 'this is none of your damn business, Stiles.' Which, I may remind you means _exactly_ what you said."

"You don't get--"

"You don't get to tell me what I don't get! I get it if you don't want me as pack, but you should have said something from the beginning, so I didn't look like an idiot trailing after you guys. Telling me it's none of my business, when you guys--" Stiles pauses, and the sadness hits Derek so hard that he almost doubles over, "When you guys are my family. Because it's definitely my business."

And, well...Stiles is right. It wasn't what Derek meant. Derek didn't mean it in _any_ way like that, but it's what came out.

Derek meant that Stiles had no business risking his life for anyone. He'd already done enough. Derek meant that Stiles should _want_ to have no business in this, because he was so very human and deserved a better life than this. Derek meant he deserved better than being afraid of the dark, and what was in it. Derek meant that, well, Stiles should do something good with his life for once, instead of putting his ass on the line for everyone else. He deserved better.

Derek just had no idea how to voice that.

"Wow, okay then. Don't answer me, that's cool. It's not like I'm standing _right fucking here_ , after all. I didn't ditch classes because I was so annoyed that you never manned up and showed--"

"I don't want you getting hurt."

One of the weirdest emotions was shock. There was no smell, no scent, nothing. It was like something ate up all of the feelings in the room, and everything just froze. The first time Derek smelt it, he thought he stopped breathing. (Laura laughed at him for weeks when he ran to his mom in tears. He probably should have smelt the panic radiating off of himself, but still. Besides, Laura did the same thing years ago, so she should have shut up.)

"You don't--are you _joking_ me?" Stiles spluttered, and maybe that was (again) the wrong thing to say. Derek really just couldn't catch a break. So, he growled in anger, and even though Stiles wasn't a werewolf, he recoiled slightly--and _finally_ , something familiar.

"No, you're going to listen to me, now. None of _this_ ," Derek gestures to himself, and then to the doorway, meaning the woods, "is any of your business. It's _not_. You don't have to do anything, you don't have to involve yourself in a werewolf's shitty life. You don't. You can actually have a normal life. You have a father to take care of. How do you think he'd feel if something happened to you?"

Stiles flinched and opened his mouth, but Derek cut him off again. (It felt a little good, to be honest. Derek could see why Stiles did it so often.)

"I'm not finished." And he's walking over to Stiles, and Stiles is backing up, and _good,_ the fear is still there. "You are allowed to have a life that doesn't involve this. Be friends with Scott, and the rest of the pack, fine--but you don't have to be stupid and put your life on the line."

"Who says I'm going to get hurt?"

Derek just gives Stiles an incredulous glare, teeth baring because really, can he really be this stupid? "You're human. Humans are a good part of a pack, but they--" Derek remembers stories of the humans in his parents pack. Remembers how the pack cherished them, but couldn't save them. Could never save them. "They always get hurt."

Derek looks Stiles over, takes in the almost translucent skin, the way his blue veins are a stark contrast between the white of his wrists. Takes in the steady (if not a little quick) thud of blood pounding through those veins, running alongside fragile, brittle bones. Derek could snap Stiles like a twig, and Derek's not even the biggest threat out there. Stiles is delicate, a breakable body with an intricate mind that could just as easily be damaged. Everything about Stiles is soft and supple, from his skin to his veins to his bones. And unlike Derek, Stiles won't heal. Not really. 

Stiles stands his ground even though his heart is thumping, and glares right back up at Derek. "Well, it's none of _your_ business what I do with my time. If I want to 'put my life on the line,' then you can't stop me."

The alpha in Derek roars because, no, Stiles is not allowed to take command like that. Derek is the one in control. Derek could point out that yes, yes he _can_ stop Stiles. But he doesn't. Derek inhales.

"You are important to this pack."

"How can I be pack if it's none of my business?!" 

And they're back to square one. Stiles groans and backs up, rubbing his hands over his face in exasperation. Derek doesn't know what to say, because yes, he already admitted that Stiles was right. It was the wrong word choice. But really, would no one cut Derek a break already? It's not like he was the king of articulation. 

"You are important to the pack. You are pack. Pack is your business, and I'm sorry."

Shock, again. Derek always had to inhale with his mouth whenever it happened, just to make sure he was still really breathing. (If Laura were here, she'd laugh at him.)

"What was that?"

"I'm not going to say--"

" _Derek_ "

There was a pause, a lull in the conversation, and Derek sighed. He was growing soft.

"I'm sorry."

Stiles was about to say something, and Derek could smell the satisfaction, so he opened his mouth.

"I'm sorry for saying it was none of your business, however, I'm serious, Stiles. Not about that, but--but I don't want you getting hurt. If you want it to be your business, you have to listen. Do you understand?"

Stiles pouts and, for once (well, twice. Derek wants to forget the first time, though.) stays quiet. 

"I know listening to someone else probably pains you." Derek muttered dryly before continuing, "But it has to happen. You're not forced to listen, like most of the pack is because of the bite, but if you want to be included there are some things you're going to have to listen to. That's what pack is."

"Okay."

It went surprisingly easier than Derek thought it would, and his shoulders slump the tiniest fraction in relief. The sadness from Stiles is out of the room, and Derek's left with the scent of grass and clean sweat and something _warm_ and homey, and Derek's really not going to go there.

"Thanks, Derek." There's something else, too, something Derek can't really tell--it smells like melted chocolate and smooth caramel, and Stiles is smiling at Derek like he just hung the moon, and then he's running out of the house with his clumsy limbs and a new task on his mind. 

Derek feels like he was just hit by a tornado. 

 

 

"Are you telling me he _apologized_ to you?" 

"I'm serious, Scott! He said it, like, three times." 

Stiles was sitting on the floor of Scott's room, leaning against his bed, tongue poking out in concentration as he fought off another alien creature with his A, A, A, A, B tactic. Scott told him he needed to move the controller, too, but Stiles was doing just fine thank you very much.

"Well, I could tell something was better, anyway."

"How is that?"

"You reeked of something sour for the three weeks you fought with him, and you came here today smelling like sugar."

"...You completely lost me, dude." 

Scott whines as Stiles presses the pause button, but makes no move to unpause it. Scott knows Stiles--the second something doesn't make sense to him, or the second he finds out something new, he wants to know all about it. Scott and his alien blasting doesn't stand a chance.

"I think it's a werewolf thing, man." Stiles wants to let go a 'no fucking duh, Scott.' But keeps it in, waiting for his friend to go on. "Seriously, like, you can smell stuff coming off of people. I didn't get it at first, I thought it was perfumes or people forgetting to wash, but--it's not like that. When someone's angry, they smell strong, like heavy smoke. Sad is sour and salty. Happy is sweet. And I guess there's more, but it's kind of like that."

Stiles commends Scott internally for picking up on all of that. He knows his friend isn't actually stupid, but sometimes he can let himself get really distracted. By Allison. 

"So, like...you guys can tell how I'm...feeling?"

"If it's strong enough, sure. If you're upset over a test grade I probably can't tell. I don't know. I should ask Derek."

"Huh." He mumbles and unpauses the game. If Scott had dog ears right now, they'd perk up in glee. Stiles just shakes his head, and goes back to his foolproof tactic. He wonders why no one ever told him before, but--well. It probably was never really a big thing anyway.

 

 

Stiles is scared shitless. Not of being alone in the woods with a something out there somewhere, (because there's always something out there and Stiles isn't stupid) no--he's scared of Derek finding out he ignored his command to stay home. Well, okay, maybe the fact that it's 2 AM and pitch black outside and Stiles can't see a thing, and there's probably something trying to eat him is a little bit of a scare, too. But it's mostly just what Derek's going to say.

The good thing, though, is that Stiles knows these woods like he knows his porn sites. Even in the dark. Give him a tree stump, and Stiles can navigate himself to Derek's house. Of course what he gets isn't a tree stump, but an arrow through the shoulder, and he can't help but scream out in pain. Because, fucking _ow_ , that hurts like a bitch. He feels dizzy, and pain is ripping through him like a knife, and it's not really one of the more pleasant things he's felt. 

"Do you think we got one?" 

Stiles hears a gruff male voice call out as he's falling to the ground. Footsteps approach, and for a hysterical second, Stiles thinks he's going to die.

"Shit. Man, come over here, we got--we got a _kid_ "

Stiles is floating into the world of unconsciousness because, once again, fucking _ow_ , when he hears it. A roar. And it sounds fucking angry.

"That was my last arrow...man, let's just get out of here."

He can hear footsteps running back in the direction they came from, and Stiles desperately wants to get up and run, too, because something's coming and Derek is going to be really fucking annoyed, and--and oh. It's Derek. Stiles is lying on his back, and breaking hurts, but he can see the silhouette of Derek morphing back into a human.

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, don't kick me out of the pack, I'm really sorry, I'm sorry, I'm--"

"An idiot. You're an _idiot_ , Stiles." Derek hisses, and it sounds so mad and angry and upset that Stiles whimpers and babbles out more apologies until Derek is done circling him. For a fleeting moment, Stiles thinks Derek is going to leave him. But then he bends down and gets an arm under Stiles legs, and another one under his back.

"This is going to hurt."

And yeah, it fucking hurts. Searing pain shoots through his shoulder all the way down his body, to his _toes_. His toes are in pain, even. He can't feel anything besides hurt and before he can stop himself a sob rips through his throat, and it hurts so bad that he passes out from it.

Stiles knows he's in a hospital before he even opens his eyes. Can smell the scent that comes from hospitals, like sick people and medicine. Too lemony, because they're trying to keep the scent fresh. But Stiles knows. He spent a lot of his time at a hospital, growing up.

So, he knows how it goes. He blinks his eyes open slowly to adjust to the light, and just lays there for a moment, staring at the tiles on the ceiling. Nothing hurts for now, and Stiles doesn't remember why he's in here, but he doesn't want to risk it. He starts by moving his legs, and that's fine, and he's getting really impatient because he's fucking _thirsty_ and can't talk. So, he sits up, and that was really the wrong thing to do because his shoulder twinges, and oh--right. That's how he got in here.

He likes out a dignified groan, and suddenly his dad is in his line of sight, looking relieved and still a little scared. "Stiles?"

He grunts and licks his lips, but his mouth is so dry that it doesn't even do much. Sheriff Stilinski takes the hint and brings over the cup of water that was left on the side, bringing it over to his son.

"Easy, okay? You're going to be fine, doctor said, but you got shot in the shoulder. With an arrow." His dad frowns, taking the cup away from Stiles' now-wet lips. The water sloshed down his throat like a desert tunnel feeling water for the first time, and Stiles welcomed the good feeling. "Derek Hale found you, and brought you here." Sheriff Stilinski sounds grateful, and he runs a hand over his son's buzz cut with a reassured look in his eye. 

"What were you doing out there?"

Stiles clears his throat and winces because that jostles his shoulder. "I don't remember." It's better than saying 'I was looking for clues as to what supernatural creature was in Beacon Hills this week,' and Stiles' dad buys it.

"You've been asleep for about a day." Scott's mom walks in with a smile and some medications in her hands. She checks his pressure, and the gauze around his shoulder, and injects something into the IV. "Sleep for a little longer, Stiles."

"Where's Der'k..." It's a whispered mumble, probably so low that neither of them understood it, and Stiles can already feel himself slipping into unconsciousness, pain already forgotten as his eyelids droop as if they weigh a thousand pounds. Mrs. McCall and Stiles' dad leave the room to discuss insurances and how to go about getting Stiles' back to himself.

 

 

It takes Stiles three weeks to get completely better (it was just a flesh wound, but it fucking hurt, dammit.) and four weeks to see Derek. Well, He's _seen_ Derek, and stuff, but Derek doesn't talk to him, and Stiles practically flees the second he can, and nothing ever works out. Stiles feels like they spend more time angry with each other than anything. It feels like a damn soap opera. So, once he gets enough balls to do it, he gets in his car and drives over to Derek's house, parking on the property. Stiles pulls out his phone and sends a text (because, just because he got enough balls to go through with it didn't mean he got enough to call.)

**I'm outside.**

**I know.**

Well. That wasn't helpful. Stiles tried again.

**Can I come in?**

It took Derek 10 minutes to answer, and by that point Stiles was literally bouncing with nerves. 

**Fine.**

Stiles was out of his car before he even finished reading it. Derek wasn't at the door, but it was open, so Stiles let himself in. Everything looked the same, but a little neater. He figures Lydia finally had her way, and called for a clean up. Stiles could see bills on the table in the living room as he walked in, which meant (YES) heating, and most likely running water.

"Der--"

He was being crowded up against the staircase. Great. He wasn't even scared anymore, because really...Derek said he didn't want him hurt, right? So...he wouldn't hurt Stiles. 

Right?

"Derek, hey, nice to see you, how've you--"

"You smell like medicine." He hisses, nose against Stiles' injured shoulder. "I told you, Stiles. I told you not to go--"

"In my defense, it was a new group of hunters! Not anything supernatural."

"They still _hurt_ you, Stiles."

"Well, obviously, but I think the main thing we need to focus on is the fact--"

"The focus, Stiles, is that you got hurt because you went in the woods, in the middle of the night, to look for something I told you not to."

"No one else was looking! We needed more information. We needed--"

"Shut up, Stiles."

Stiles can feel Derek's jaw clench against his shoulder, so he does shut up for a few seconds, letting the man calm down. Well, if Derek could do it, so could he, right? Even though he's already said sorry.

"I'm sorry."

"Shut up."

"I really am, okay? I'm really sorry. I was just worried that this was a bigger threat than we were thinking, and I wanted you guys to know what you were up against, because like, what if it was something super bad and you guys had no idea and you didn't have the proper protection and you went to go see what it was and it killed you and--"

"Stiles."

"And what would have happened if you guys were alone and you had no idea what the threat was, and I know you guys work better as a pack because I read this thing on wolves that said they prefer being in packs because they fight better that way so what if you guys were alone and you came across it without any idea of what it could be so I just wanted to...to..."

"Shut up." 

Derek bumped his nose against Stiles' jaw, inhaling, and Stiles couldn't help the shiver that ran down his spine. He could feel the stubble of Derek's chin on the underside of his jaw, could feel the way it dragged lightly downward until Derek's face was nestled into the crook of Stiles' neck.

"What...what..."

"Your heart rate sped up when I did that." So naturally, Derek does it again. He rubs his cheek along the pale expansion of Stiles neck, moving closer to his jaw, and Stiles' breath hitches. 

"See?" Derek mumbles against Stiles' mandible, and Jesus Christ, what the _hell_ has gotten into Derek? Stiles' throat suddenly feels a lot drier than it was five minutes ago, and he can feel his heart pounding in his chest. Great. He probably reeks of arousal.

In retrospect, however, Derek is only smelling that scent that smells like melting chocolate and warm laundry, and it's intoxicating. By this point, Derek doesn't even know if he can help himself, just keeps his face pressed into the juncture between Stiles' neck and shoulder.

"Derek?" He mumbles, voice lower than usual, and a little wobbly. 

"Just say no" Derek says, _has_ to say, because he doesn't care if this is the best scent he's ever had the pleasure of inhaling, doesn't care if Stiles is finally here and safe and not in that hospital bed, nearly see through eyelids fluttering in his sleep. 

"No." Stiles breathes, and Derek jerks back as if he's been punched, tugging his fingers off Stiles' hips (he doesn't remember them getting there) with jerky movements as if it hurts. He's backing up, moving away from Stiles and the stairs, and Stiles' eyes widen, Suddenly Derek finds two fists clutching the front of his shirt, and a pale, fragile teenage staring up at him with worried, doe-like eyes.

"No! No, not _no_ , I meant no, as in no, like, no. Not no, leave no, but like no, don't leave no. You know?" 

Derek doesn't, but it's okay because Stiles _does_ , and he tugs Derek back in because he gets it--because he gets that by Derek saying he was important to the pack, he was saying that Stiles was important to _him_ , and that has to mean something.

Right?

"I'm sorry." Stiles says again, uncharacteristically serious (because contrary to popular belief, Stiles can be serious), and Derek is uncharacteristically scared (and it's not really uncharacteristic because Derek is scared a lot more than he lets people believe) because he could have _lost_ Stiles had the arrow been a little bit more to the left. Derek drops his head down against the space between Stiles' neck and shoulder, and neither of them move for a moment.

With slightly trembley fingers (that Stiles will deny until the day he dies), Stiles' hands find their way to Derek's face, and Derek finds Stiles' hips again, and Stiles smells like dripping honey and there's nothing Derek can do to stop himself from finally (finally) dipping his head down to press his lips against the shorter boys.

Stiles melted against Derek, fingers digging into the hollows of Derek's jaw bone. He opened his mouth, tongue pressing against Derek's lips and he _growled_ , turning the kiss from soft and sweet into desperate and needy. Derek licks into Stiles' mouth as if he owns it, gripping Stiles' hips and backing him back against the stairs. 

If Stiles whimpers it's not his fault, because Derek's thumbs are rubbing his hip bones, and his teeth are biting into Stiles' swollen lower lip. He tugs on it with his teeth as he moves his focus onto Stiles' neck. Derek trails his lips over to the dip behind Stiles' ear, and peppers quick kisses down the invisible path he's following, as if he's trying to memorize every inch of skin he can get. He sucks on Stiles' pulse point, not depriving it of any attention, and Stiles nearly fucking _keens_ , and okay. Maybe he had a neck thing he never knew about. It's not like anyone could blame him. 

"Derek, Derek, hold--hold on a second." He pants as Derek starts sucking out hickeys that the satellites up in space can probably see. Derek stops as if he had an off button that had just been pressed before rubbing his face against Stiles' neck, making him shiver again, before pulling away. If it were anyone else, Stiles would say they were pouting.

"What?"

"Well, I mean--" And Stiles doesn't really know why he stopped that, really, because he was completely on board. "Is this going to mess things up? Like, with the pack? I mean, I don't want the stars to like, unalign or something, because--like, aren't you supposed to, I don't know, I was looking up stuff online and I got on this werewolf website and okay maybe it was like, from a horror movie but you never know the truths that can be--"

"Stiles."

"Shutting up, got it." He mumbles, looking up at Derek with his stupidly big eyes, and his now kiss-swollen lips, and Derek sighs, hit with affection. He can smell (and feel) Stiles' arousal, and he can smell warm sugar and cake batter, and something else that's just so _good_ , and Derek doesn't think he's ever wanted something more. (Not even Kate smelt like this. There was always that under-scent of hatred that he could never pinpoint until the end, anyway.) Nothing has ever smelt sweeter.

"Is this going to be a thing?" Stiles asks again, quieter this time, fingers pressed into the wisps of Derek's hair (from when he grappled at his head for stability) and he doesn't let go because he doesn't really want to. If Derek says no, there is a seriously likely chance that Stiles will cling to him like a spider monkey until he changes his mind and sees what a catch Stiles is.

"Do you want it to be?"

Of course Derek leaves the decision up to Stiles. _Of course_. God forbid he chooses something. Stiles knows, though, knows that that's just how Derek is, because despite how he makes it seem like he doesn't care about anything, but he always _always_ lets everyone else decide what they want to do. (Unless it's life threatening or just plain stupid.)

"I want it to be." 

And Derek smiles like he did at that police officer, except it's real and it's aimed at _Stiles_ and he feels as if he can die happy. 

(He'd prefer to have sex before he died, but really. Stiles wasn't about to get picky.)

Derek pulls Stiles closer, and yes, this was not what Derek expected when Stiles came around earlier but he was going to take what he could get, because Stiles wasn't Kate. Stiles was good, he was _everything_ good in Derek's life, the icing on his metaphorical cake, and now he got to really have him. Really keep him close and keep an eye on him. Make sure he was always safe without raising suspicion. 

The wolf in Derek quieted in content, because he acknowledged Stiles. Stiles challenged Derek, in a good way. Made him think, made him feel. Stiles complimented his personality by being everything Derek wasn't. 

"Good." He mumbles, nuzzling against Stiles' cheek as he laughs. It's one of Derek's favorite sounds.

"Good." Stiles hums back in agreement, petting at Derek's back as if stroking an animal, and Derek would growl if that didn't further Stiles' point. Rude.

There's a crash from outside and Derek sighs, because he knew this was going to happen.

"They're outside, aren't they." Stiles deadpans lowly in Derek's ear, referring to the rest of the pack.

"Yes."

"And they were here the whole time, weren't they?"

"Most likely."

"That's great."

So Stiles did what any respectable young male would do. He slaps his hand down hard against the staircase railing. 

" _OH YES, DEREK."_ He moans far too loudly, and Derek just stares at him with wide eyes.

That is, until, "Oh my God _Lydia_ you said they weren't going to go that far!" from Scott resonates through their ears. It sounds horrified and frightened and they can hear a bike booking it out of the property. Derek can hear the rest of them better than Stiles can, and they're muttering about how it was fake, and Scott is stupid, and Derek can hear Scott peddling away, mumbling to himself about too much information.

And then Stiles lets out a guffaw, doubling over onto Derek's shoulder in laughter, fingers clutching Derek's sides as he practically cackles, because that was too funny and Scott is such an _idiot_ , and he just loves Scott so much, and Stiles is just really happy, and everything's really great. Seriously. Derek huffs out through his nose in amusement, his equivalent of laughter (for now. Stiles is determined to change that.) and noses behind Stiles' ear. 

Stiles could get used to this. He really could.

 

 

"Does this mean I'm off the hook?" 

They're on the shabby couch in Derek's living room hours later, and Stiles is covered in hickeys, and his shirt is strewn across Derek's on the floor. He's lying on top of Derek, elbows pressed into the couch by Derek's shoulders as he peers down at the taller man.

"No. I'm not over you disobeying orders to stay inside, you know." But he's ghosting his fingers down Stiles' spine softly, as if Stiles is going to break if he presses any harder, and Stiles can feel his back quiver. He kisses Derek's nose and laughs when Derek's face puckers up as if he ate a lemon. 

"You can't stay mad at me. I'm irresistible."

"Of course you are."

"No really, I am. You couldn't resist my delectable boyish charm."

"You make me sound like a pedophile."

"How old are you, again? Like, 50?"

Derek's definitely got his hands full, he can tell you that.

(But he kind of wouldn't want it any other way. That part he won't really tell you, though.)

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I hope you guys liked it as much as I liked writing it (:
> 
> (which was a whole lot.)
> 
> But anyway, thank you for reading! Sorry, it kind of is word vomity and I don't specify pack because I DON'T EVEN KNOW WE'RE JUST GOING TO SAY THAT EVERYONE WAS IN IT OKAY  
> EVERYONE  
> AND EVERYTHING IS RAINBOWS AND THE PACK IS EVERYONE
> 
> so that's that.  
> I hope you guys enjoyed it. (:


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